by Heidi Lowe
“That doesn't surprise me. You've always been a drama queen.”
“You're poison. Dangerous. Like a ticking time bomb. Getting as far away from you as possible would have been the smart thing to do.”
“And yet you came all the way out here to see me.”
Even though my reason for visiting wasn't to exchange niceties, it does indeed look suspicious.
I sigh in exasperation. “Just get on with the massage.”
As soon as she squirts the warm liquid onto my back, my body goes rigid. It's the opposite of what it should be, but this isn't just any massage. This has a million different connotations, implications. When her hands connect with my flesh, for the first time in seven years, it's as though I'm being transported back to 2008, to her cozy little loft-style apartment. I want to tell her that I won't enjoy this, that she's lousy at her job, but within seconds my eyes have fluttered shut, and I feel as though I'm floating on a cloud. Those knots she spoke of in my shoulders, the ones I didn't realize I had, start to fade.
“How does that feel?” Her voice is smooth, hypnotic.
I hear myself moan in agreement with the massage. That's answer enough. She lets out a little laugh.
“Your father thinks you don't like me.”
“He's right.”
“That's not exactly true though, is it?” She's standing over me, her crotch level with my face. “I think the problem is that you like me a little too much.”
“That was in the past. Whatever I felt for you ended the day you tried to run me down with my own car.”
“You're exaggerating.” She chuckles. “I sped off and you got in the way. I could be wrong, but jumping in front of moving cars isn't a sensible thing to do.”
She's twisting things like she usually does. That's not how it happened.
“You stole my car! I was trying to stop you.”
“Correction: I borrowed your car. We were a couple, albeit an on-off one. Whatever was yours was mine.”
I'm so outraged by this assertion, but you wouldn't think it to look at me. Her hands are magical. She truly is great at her job. My intention of disputing her claims are laid to rest as her hands travel along my back, paying wonderful attention to my lower section. I notice how dangerously close she's getting to my butt. It sends a shiver down my spine.
“We had some wild times together, didn't we?” she continues. “In and out of the bedroom. But mostly in the bedroom...” Her hands glide up my back again, then they stop. “For me to do my job properly I'll need to remove this.”
It's as if I anticipated this, and thus don't even attempt to stop her when she starts fiddling with my bra strap. In a couple of seconds it breaks loose. It's at this point that I decide to approach the reason why I came here, because I'm beginning to forget.
“What are you really doing here, Angel?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Why are you in town? You're a long way from home. And what do you want with my father?”
“I thought I answered that already. He's a great guy. He makes me laugh.”
“You expect me to believe that? His jokes are lame.”
“You and I never did share the same sense of humor. Your lame is my funny.”
“Look, enough with the bullshit!” I sit up, forgetting that I'm topless. But like she said, it's nothing she hasn't seen before. There's something exciting about being exposed like this in front of her, knowing that Faye is the only woman permitted to see my breasts, (and the only woman, besides my doctor, who has had the pleasure for the past six years). “You're not fooling anyone. Someone like you wouldn't be interested in someone like him unless there was something major involved.”
She crosses her arms, looking mildly amused by my outburst. I'm swearing again, thanks to her. It took me two years to get my cursing under control, and within a couple of weeks she's undone all my hard work.
“What might be in it for me?” Her eyes shoot back and forth between my eyes and my bare chest.
“Money is the only possible explanation.”
“I don't want his money. I have my own money. When have I ever been motivated by money?”
I'm forced to admit that she's right. When we were together she didn't care about money, possessions, any of that stuff. I think she was a trust fund kid, or a rich, dead aunt left her a bunch of money when she was younger.
“I don't really care what your reasons for being here are. I don't want you dating, marrying or sleeping with my father. Period. What's it going to take for you to leave?”
She raises an eyebrow in alarm, seemingly more amused than before. All I am to her is a running gag that she refuses to take seriously.
“I could be way off, but I think you're a little jealous.”
“What do I have to be jealous of? I'm a happily married woman. My wife is perfect.”
She raises her eyebrow even higher. “Who exactly are you trying to convince, me or yourself? I'm sure you love your wife a lot, she's easy to love. But...” She shakes her head, “she's not me, is she? I would bet my life that she doesn't make you come the way I do. Have you dared share with her all your secret little fetishes? Does she know how much you like to be spanked? No, I bet she doesn't. Because she wouldn't understand. Women like that never do.”
“Don't you dare talk about Faye. You know nothing about her.” I'm pointing a threatening finger at her, but somehow doing so topless isn't having the effect I'm going for.
“I love how defensive you get.”
“I'm defensive when it comes to the people I care about.”
“Or maybe I hit too close to home. It's tragic when the woman you love doesn't satisfy you the way your ex once did.”
I've had enough. This was a mistake, I shouldn't have come. I've never been able to get her to do anything she doesn't want to do. I don't know why I thought I could successfully run her out of town.
“Tell me, does Saint Faye know that you asked someone to marry you before her? That my turning you down was the reason you're together now?”
“I never would have married you. You're not marriage material. Heck, you're not even suitable girlfriend material.” I'm trying to hurt her, trying to insult her, but from the size of her shit-eating grin, I'm failing miserably. I don't think there's an insult in the English language, or any other, that would work on her.
“Your dad doesn't seem to think so.”
“My dad's an old fool who's thinking with his penis.”
“So that would mean that you were thinking with your crotch when you proposed to me.”
“Pretty much.”
“I bet you think with your crotch all the time. Like when you're alone and you touch yourself, who do you think about? Your wife, or the woman who could make you come just by looking at you?”
I stand up to meet her head on. “My wife, always my wife.” I say it without flinching, without looking away. Too bad it's a bare-faced lie.
“I don't believe you,” she says simply. “You're a terrible liar, Nik.”
I hate how she shortens my name, as though we're friends or familiars.
When I don't speak, don't deny her claim, she smiles cunningly and says, “All right, you wanted to know what it would take to get me out of your father's life.”
I'm listening, but I suspect her conditions are going to be too demanding.
“Tell me, truthfully, and I'll know if you're lying, do you ever think about me, even just a little, to get yourself off?”
Any other question would have been better than that one. To answer truthfully would reveal too much about the state of my sex life, and the power she still yields over me. That's why she chose this particular question. But if me answering will get her to leave, I owe it to myself and my father to take that chance.
“Yes.” It's almost inaudible.
She leans in a little closer, looking victorious. “Sorry, I didn't quite get that.”
“I said yes, goddammit!” Of course she
heard me the first time.
“I thought so.”
“Okay, you got what you wanted. Now will you end it with my father?”
She frowns, cocks her head to the side as though she remembers making no such deal. “If you want me to call off my engagement, my dream wedding, alter the course of my future, you're going to have to give me something better than that, Nikki.”
I'm almost afraid to ask, but I do. “What? What the hell do you want?”
“It's actually really easy–”
“Just say it already,” I snap.
“You never did give me a farewell fuck. I think you owe me that at least.”
I choke on my own saliva, scarcely able to believe what I'm hearing.
“You're out of your mind. I've always known it deep down, but now you've confirmed it.” I'm shaking my head in pure puzzlement.
“You act like I'm asking you to kill someone. You used to love screwing me. I couldn't get you to keep your legs closed...”
“That was before I realized what a psychopath you are. And, you know,” I say, and thrust my hand out at her, “before I got married.”
She rolls her eyes. “I'm not asking you to leave your wife. And I'm not asking you to do anything we haven't already done a thousand times already.”
“I'm married,” I repeat, and it's the only thing I can say. Her request has shocked the speech right out of me. Not just the request, but her apparent ignorance as to why I would have a problem just lying back and letting her have her wicked, sexy, delicious way with me.
“I was there long before she was, remember that.”
“So what, you think that entitles you to eternal first refusal rights over my vagina?” I mouth the word because even saying something like that in her company feels naughty.
“A right of first refusal, I like that. And I must admit, when it comes to you, more than any other woman I've been with, I do feel a certain element of entitlement to your body.”
“This is a test, isn't it? It has to be. You couldn't possibly think I'd go for something like this.”
“Well, you said it yourself, you do this all the time in your head.”
“Okay, this conversation's over.” I reach for my bra but she snatches it away before I can get it. “Really, you think that will work in your favor?”
She shakes her head with a smile. “No, I just really like the view.”
I stare her down for the longest time, unable to believe any of this is happening. I'm still praying it's a joke or a test of sorts. I'm also hoping I don't succumb. Because there's just something about being alone in a room with this woman that does things to my body no other person has ever come close to achieving. The effect she has on me is lethal, that's why it's imperative I get my shit and leave. But, as if reading my mind, she quickly scoops up my shirt. Now she has everything I need to escape, and my hopes of doing so are dashed.
“The way I see it, you have two options–”
“Yeah, I take my clothes back from you, or I scream this place down and let the whole neighborhood know you're harassing me.”
“I'll give you back your clothes, and I'll walk out of your life for good. You know what you have to do for that, though. Or you could leave here half-naked.”
I know I could wrestle her for my stolen clothing, and I would likely win (as she's at least a stone lighter than me), but then wrestling my ex while topless doesn't sound like such a far cry from what she's proposing.
Instead, I yank the white sheet off the table and wrap it around myself, holding it steady. Robbing her of the view she likes is my little piece of revenge.
“You expect me to believe that if I sleep with you you'll give everything up and walk away? Just like that?”
“You have my word.” She raises a hand. “Scout's honor.”
“Your word isn't worth a goddamn thing, Angel.”
“You should learn to trust people more.”
“I trust people, I just don't trust you.”
Her face goes serious for a moment when she responds. “I'll end it with your father, tell him I went back to women or something. He'll buy it.”
Holy hell, I'm actually considering this! How can it be that my wife of five years, my lover and best friend, has become but a distant memory in the face of wild, multiple-orgasm inducing sex, with my psycho ex no less?
And now I realize that this isn't about protecting my father anymore, and likely never was. It was always about me seeing Angel again. Purely selfish reasons. She is the drug that takes hold, digs its claws into you, and doesn't let go until it's taken everything you have. She's that one weakness man is prone to but can never explain. And I was hers the second I climbed into my car this afternoon and headed to her workplace...
“Or I could stay in your life, play the doting stepmother you never wanted.” She prowls toward me, her eyes daring and half-lidded, her bottom lip wet and glistening with her saliva. When there is hardly any space between us, and I smell the coconut scent on her skin, I remember it well and it makes me shiver in anticipation. She always smelled sweet, like dessert – the kind that kills you from over-consumption! She grips the sheet herself, and we both stand there holding the thin material that is currently keeping me faithful to my wife.
“But think about all those joint family holidays we'll have together. That could get pretty awkward.”
I narrow my eyes at her, though it's all for show. “So what you're saying is that I really don't have a choice?”
“Everyone has a choice,” is all she says before yanking the sheet from me, turning her statement into a huge contradiction.
My breasts hang bare and exposed for the second time that afternoon, but it's different this time. I let her eyes drink them in, enjoying being on display, and loving the smile my body is bringing to her face.
“I feel like I'm making a deal with the devil,” I mumble.
Her finger drifts across one of my already hardened nipples, stiffening it beyond recognition with a simple touch. I tremble and she smiles wider, our eyes locked on each other.
“Does this feel like hell to you?” she whispers, trapping my nipple between her index and middle fingers. I shake my head, unable to breathe a word. She lowers her head and pricks my captured nipple with her tongue. “Tell me what it feels like?”
There's only one possible answer, and I breathe it without thinking. “Heaven.”
She rewards me with a kiss, her lips super soft and damp. She even tastes like coconuts, though that's probably all in my head. Her tongue feels right in my mouth, and I let her dominate the kiss while driving me backward until I'm on the table again. I didn't realize how much I'd been missing this unrestrained passion, the almost animalistic desire for her body.
“Your coworkers...” I say as she lays me down. After all, I don't want them walking in on this scene. She's already introduced me as her fiance's daughter.
“They don't care,” she says, kissing my worries away.
In no time she's worked my pants off, and moments later my panties follow suit. Naked, lying on my back on a massage table, about to submit to a woman I thought and hoped never to see again, my desire for her is so strong it leaves no room for guilt.
She spreads my legs gently. “Mmm, there's a scent I remember well.”
I want to watch her at work between my legs, to see such a beautiful woman devouring me ravenously, but as she bears down on my sex, I find I can't keep my head up. She doesn't hold back. Her whole mouth is being utilized, not just her talented tongue. I feel her in every corner, every nook and cranny.
Her tongue goes from one extreme to the next, flexible and loose to stiff and rigid. I instantly know what's coming, and moan in anticipation. Being penetrated this way sends me into ecstasy. I grip the sides of the table, fearing that I might tear into the mattress. The moans rip from my lips and fill the room. Everyone beyond these walls can no doubt hear me, as there is no door, only a curtain separating us from the rest of the shop. None of this m
atters while I'm getting some of the best head I've ever received.
When she's done stabbing at my hole with her skillful muscle, the way only she knows how, her tongue returns to its regular, flexible disposition, and she continues gobbling me up before taking the party further up north. I'm shivering like a virgin about to have her innocence taken. She always had that effect on me, that's probably why our sex is memorable to me. It's like losing my virginity all over again.
“Still as wet as I remember.” I can hear the smile in her voice.
I don't respond. She's not expecting me to, this is just her way of asserting her authority. She can say whatever she wants now, as far as I'm concerned, so long as she finishes what she starts.
And she does, with a vengeance, attacking my nub with reckless abandon. I'm not prepared for how forceful the move is, and so my moan of delight is half scream. Nothing deters her, however. With her lips wrapped around my bean, she sucks and licks like never before, unconcerned by my violent writhing against her mouth.
“Ohh...” I groan, pulling at my hair like a mad woman.
At this rate I know it's only a matter of time before I expire all over her face. She'll decide when she wants me to come – I don't get a say.
She decides a couple of minutes later, going in for the kill, letting her tongue stroke and jab me to a rolling orgasm.
My body becomes lifeless, completely spent. If I try to get up now I'll fall right back down. The energy, along with my juices, has been sucked out of me. I have nothing left to give. This is when she laughs, and she does so with her mouth still buried in my crotch.
“Seeing you like this, all fucked-out, was totally worth it.” She kisses my sex, long and drawn out. But I'm far too sensitive down there to enjoy it. I shove her head away with the energy I can muster. This only makes her laugh even more. Causing me discomfort was likely on her to-do list in addition to bringing me to climax, if I know her as well as I think I do.
“What's the matter, you don't like my mouth here anymore?”
“You can get off me now,” I say, and don't feel bad about it at all.
She doesn't move. “Or I could go in for round two. What do you think? Could you handle that?”
